Missile's Kittens

Missile Launcher -- or Missile for short -- found the perfect shelter from the rain, a small house where the backyard led to the woods. The dirt path that led to the porch was converting into mud, and the cat strategically tip-toed through it, his black-furred pudge jiggling with every movement.

The door was ajar, inviting Missile inside. He sauntered through a big room, scoffing at the dirty floor his paws walked on. The room had metal boxes by the walls, and not the kind of boxes Missile could squeeze into. The air was much warmer than outside, and the smell was delightful. He recognized the aroma as something cooking, but it wasn’t tuna. What a shame.

Quickly, he walked out of the room and into the next. Now, this room was much better. The smell traveled from the first room, the floor was softer, and there was big, cushy furniture set up around the room. It was designed for a king, and he just walked in.

To Missile’s surprise, he wasn’t the first cat to claim territory in this lovely house. Or the second.

Two gigantic kittens occupied both the couch and one of the cushy chairs, holding a thick pile of papers in their weird, stretched-out paws. They might have been born in the same litter because their furs were identical, with their black bottom half and black streak that went to their white middles. But other than the fur, the kittens were different. One had brown skin under the fur and clearly wasn’t fed enough. The other had white skin and was never told to share his food with the other kitten. Where were their parents?

“What are you doing here?” Missile called. “When are your moms coming back?”

The deaf kitties were confused to see an adult. The fat, white one clumsily stood up on his hind legs and walked past Missile.

“Hey, where are you going? I asked you a question, young lad!”

Missile kept shouting at the deaf and apparently dumb kitten as they went to the door the black cat came in. The kitten used his enlarged paw to open the door further. He gestured for Missile to leave the building. Immediately, Missile walked around the kitten and back to the comfy room. He wasn’t going to let a kitten kick him out of the shelter.

Now entertained, the fat kitten closed the door.

Whoever their parents were, they did a bad job raising them. Missile sighed to himself. Since he was the only cat around that knew how to parent, he would have to be these dumb kitties’ dad. The dumb kitties were happy to have a parent, and they spent most of the night petting their new dad. Gibberish noises came out of their mouths as they talked to him, but Missile didn’t mind. Kittens take a bit to learn the proper language.

The rain was non-stop for the next few days. The weather didn’t stop the kittens from leaving the house while Missile slept or looked the other way, and they always took their pile of papers with them. From his time before with other gigantic kittens, the black cat picked up some Gibberish and connected it with his own language. He could read the first three words “The Book of”. The fourth word, however, he had no idea what it was. It looked very much like “Mom”, but he felt that the spelling was too long to be it.

The kittens never hunted outside the building, and Missile understood there were other hunting areas they frequented. They would always come home with loud, crinkly bags stuffed with goods, and they would impress the black cat by using their voodoo magic to convert the goods into something completely different and more intoxicating. Unfortunately, the kittens were feral; they would swipe at Missile whenever he attempted to try their food.

Several times he asked them what their names were with no success. The language barrier was appalling. The brown kitten misunderstood Missile’s shouts to be cries of hunger and fed him fish in a can. The white kitten thought he was asking to go outside, and held the back door open for five minutes before giving up and closing the door in a huff. Missile thought he should be the one huffing in the situation, but he let it go. Until the kittens could speak normally, he would give them names for the meantime. The brown kitten was now Blank, and the white kitten was Huffy.

Most activities Blank and Huffy would do were in a set routine. In the early morning, they would go out. In the evening, they would come back and eat. For an hour or so, they would quietly sit on the soft furniture and read from the thick pile of papers. Any other free time they had, Missile made sure it was spent on him. He was concerned the kittens were raised far apart from the feline species; he didn’t waste a single opportunity to correct their behavior. There were mixed results. Blank and Huffy were neutral about getting daily tongue baths from him, but they stopped putting their paws on Missile’s open belly to avoid his attacks, which was supposed to teach them to defend themselves. There was a lot of work set for the black cat.

There was a knock on the door next Sunday. Curious by the unexpected visitor, he stood guard beside Blank, who opened the door and let in another kitten. No, it wasn’t a kitten, Missile observed. The newcomer had the same fur as Blank and Huffy, and this was also a deaf and clumsy animal. Those were where the kitten qualities ended. This newcomer was wider than Huffy, and there was a patch of long, matted fur hanging from the chin. His hind legs made a heavy impact on the floor, and Missile vibrated with each step the newcomer made. He had the pose of someone who had been around for a long time. This could very well be the kittens’ dad.

This displeased Missile. Here he was, a black cat that stepped into the lives of two helpless children, willing to take on the role of their dad. Here was this stranger, who had these kittens and then abandoned them like some deadbeat parent. Missile didn’t care to learn the stranger’s actual name; from now on, Missile knew him as Deadbeat.

And Deadbeat was also displeased with seeing Missile. The cat watched, still on guard, as Deadbeat lectured the kittens. Given the context he got from the Gibberish the three of them spoke, Deadbeat didn’t like that Blank and Huffy found a new dad. And given more context -- when Deadbeat boldly picked Missile up -- the cat was banned from parenting the helpless children.

Missile hissed on the way to a big, vibrating hunk of metal. He clawed at Deadbeat as he was shoved into a portable prison waiting in the seat of the metal hunk. From the prison, Missile yelled at Deadbeat, switching from cursing at him to promising that he would personally send him to Hell.

“I know the Devil himself, don’t you know?” Missile yowled. “He owes me a favor, and I’m going to use it on you!”

Of course, Missile didn’t know the Devil; it was a strange myth put on black cats. But Deadbeat didn’t need to know that. Nor did Deadbeat seem to care. He sat away from Missile and moved the wheel in front of him, which in turn made the hunk of metal move as well, with heavy wobbles at every turn. The cat thought he would get motion-sick after the third turn… out of the endless turns he suffered through.

The hunk of metal stopped. The stillness was greatly appreciated, until Deadbeat got out of the metal hunk, making it bounce as his weight shifted. Missile kept his defense ready even as he was helplessly carried out of the hunk.

The box rattled with every step, and through the gated door Missile could see a wooden fence stretching for miles, posing as a wall in front of the deep woods he didn’t recognize. Deadbeat brought the black cat closer to the fence and placed the prison on top of it. With a sweeping motion, Deadbeat pawed open the door and jerked the cat out of the prison. Missile was as graceful as a brick and flopped on the woods’ leafy floor. He turned to hiss at Deadbeat, who was back in the metal hunk, and sped off.

Missile wasted no time squeezing under the gate and ran after the metal hunk. He ran for as long as he could, and for as long as the hunk was in his vision. The nature floor gave way to gravel, slowing his pace down because of the little rocks digging into his paws. Eventually, the metal hunk was out of sight.

He huffed and puffed as he slowed down, taking in the scenery. From what he could see, Missile found his way back to town, but at the very edge of it where the factories and other unsavory places would be, like the puppy mill nearby. Nothing was familiar enough for him to get a sense of direction.

Turning a corner, he noticed a calico cat bathing herself under the wooden boards that stretched under the front door of a building. He recognized the calico as Callie, an unofficial tour guide for feline travelers. Glad not having to shout to communicate, he trotted over to her.

Hey! Callie!

The cat turned her head. Once she saw Missile, her pupils widened.

You need to get out of here! The calico warned. There’s one of those clumsy cats on a rampage throughout the town, doncha know!

What, the one with the metal hunk? Missile asked. Once Callie confirmed, he scoffed. He’s just a bad dad. I’ve met plenty.

Not like this one. With a shudder, Callie delivered the news she heard from other cats in the town. He’s been telling anyone who will listen that any black cat they see needs to be thrown out of here. Especially to a lot of his kids; he’s telling them that they’re not allowed to associate with the rest of us.

How absurd! Missile couldn’t believe what his pointy ears were hearing. Out of the corner of his eye, Missile noticed maybe a dozen clumsy kittens, all with the same fur as Blank and Huffy. He must be the jealous kind of a bad dad, especially with all those kids he’s keeping around, he noted. Even the best dad in the world can’t keep up with this many.

Callie eyed him nervously. What are you going to do? I sense you’re up to something.

Missile wasn’t, but now that she said something, gears whirred in his mind. What an odd phenomenon, but he didn’t have time to think about it.

You should gather the other cats and plan a cattack, he advised.

Callie didn’t question Missile’s intention to plan a cat invasion. When and where, and most importantly, who?

Tonight, wherever that crazyhead is, and the crazyhead himself.

Deal.

Missile and Callie walked in different directions.

The black cat wandered aimlessly around the town, searching for the house. Twice he got distracted from the butcher shop and its delicious meat smells. Once, he ran from Blank and Huffy’s brother, who tried to pick Missile up.

In the distance, his ears picked up unfeline shouts, followed by yowls of battle cries. Taking the cue, he zoomed to the familiar house up ahead. Unfortunately for him, there was a group of Deadbeat’s children. They crowded around something on the ground. Missile came over for a closer look.

Callie had led the other cats to Deadbeat, and all those cats hissed, bit, and scratched at him. The kids attempted to pull a cat out of the pile with no success.

Deadbeat locked eyes with Missile. His mouth opened to say something, but Callie didn’t let him say it. She laid over his face and didn’t move, despite the jerking motions he made. Missile walked around the horde and to the house, content with the result. The cattack should be over in a little while; the cats hadn’t had that much fun in forever.

Blank and Huffy were on the soft furniture, gripping their thick pile of papers. Blank saw Missile strolling through the kitchen and gestured to his brother. Both kittens came to the cat, immediately petting him.

“Did you miss me, kids?” Missile chirped. “Don’t worry about Deadbeat. You have me now, and that’s all that matters.” He headbutted into one of the large paws, taking in the affection.

To his surprise, Huffy meowed at him.

“Submarine,” the kitten said. He smiled with pride.

“Tax benefits,” Blank said, also happy with his new word.

It was a start.